


Butterflies and Other Stupid Feelings

by PoeticallyIrritating



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, gay denial and friend makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 18:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15443421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeticallyIrritating/pseuds/PoeticallyIrritating
Summary: Heather's advice is surprisingly good most of the time.





	Butterflies and Other Stupid Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling personally robbed of a Valencia gay panic storyline so I wrote something adjacent to that! I am so rusty and I am also typing with a broken wrist, but this is here! It's gay! Nice.

Heather is staring daggers at Valencia’s rosé.

“This is bullshit,” she says. “This baby better be real fucking cute.”

Valencia sighs with a very Valencia-like dramatism. “I thought we were talking about me,” she says, pouty, and pours more wine into her glass even though it’s only half empty.

Heather sips dispassionately at her seltzer water. “Okay. Shoot.”

Valencia takes a larger-than-necessary swallow of wine. She’s wearing patterned lounge pants that were probably seventy-nine ninety-nine, with one percent of profits going to save the rainforest in Belize.

Heather’s sweatpants say WEST COVINA HIGH SCHOOL ATHLETICS on them. They were the mandated sportswear for ninth-grade P.E.

“So, I don’t know, like, exactly what’s going on here, or whatever. Like, _you_ know I don’t have female friends usually. Or like, friends.” She scrolls through notifications on her phone, eyes flicking up-down-up-down. “Like, okay, I asked Beth to go to the gym with me. And she did, and she can even keep up with me. But when we said goodbye, I felt…” She squints. “Like I had a stomachache.”

_Oh, Jesus._ “Like butterflies,” Heather says.

“No. I don’t know. That's weird, right?”

“You feel like this with Beth a lot, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Valencia snaps. Her eyes get shiny and mean when she’s threatened, like some kind of feline predator.

“You guys got sushi and you couldn’t finish your dinner.”

“That fish was _not_ sushi-grade.”

“Valencia,” Heather says. She even makes real eye contact, which is how you know she’s serious. “I think you’re, like...kind of gay.”

Valencia chokes on her wine, but recovers without getting a drop on her elephant-patterned pants. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have sex with _men.”_

Heather wishes more than anything else that she could be drunk for this conversation. “Yeah, okay, Miss I-Have-a-Headache-and-I’m-Not-in-the-Mood.” She pitches her voice up for an imitation. _“Sorry, Joshy, it's just that time of the month.”_ She tugs her shirt down over her belly, which is currently just the right size to tell people that she’s actually  _not_ pregnant when they ask. (Heather is an agent of chaos for the socially awkward.)

Valencia’s eyes are narrowed.

“Listen,” Heather says. “It doesn’t matter if you like screwing men or not. You can be bi, or whatever.” She doesn’t say _Like Darryl,_ which would be the fastest way to get kicked out of this house for good. She also doesn’t say _Like me,_ even though it’s at least eighty percent true, because she Doesn’t Like Labels.

“I’m not in love with Beth.”

“You don’t have to be in love with her, you freak.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, look.” She heaves herself onto her knees. Even though her body isn’t much bigger, it feels like every movement she makes is through an ocean of tar. She takes the wine glass out of Valencia’s hand and sets it on the side table.

_“Use a coaster or I will stab you.”_

Heather edges the glass onto a coaster made out of braided twine, and then she sits back on her heels and puts her hands on Valencia’s shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Valencia's eyes have taken on a baby-deer quality, if baby deer were also prone to attack given the slightest provocation.

“Trust me.”

Heather leans in. Normally she would close her eyes for this part, but she doesn’t trust Valencia not to stab her in the mouth or something. Valencia’s eyes stay open too, so it feels like a game of chicken, not a capital-m Moment. 

She starts with a peck, and when Valencia doesn’t instantly freak out, she deepens the kiss. As her mouth opens, Valencia’s hand twists in the bottom of Heather’s tank top, and Heather feels—or imagines that she feels—Valencia’s pulse quicken in the part of her wrist that’s touching Heather’s stomach.

Valencia’s tongue is against her lips now, and if her first response could be chalked up to instinct, this can’t. Their tongues slide together and it’s weirdly sexy, and Heather feels her own body temperature ratchet up. Her hand grips and then rests against Valencia's thigh.

When the seal between their lips is broken, Heather pulls back and grins at Valencia’s wide-eyed stupor. “You taste like wine.”

Valencia snaps back to herself with a jerk, as if a spell’s been broken. “You taste like morning sickness,” she says.

Heather, who has not thrown up in three hours and has brushed her teeth twice since then, snorts. “Just saying. The world won’t explode if you make out with a girl.”

Valencia makes her I've-just-smelled-dog-shit face. “I’m familiar with Katy Perry, thanks.”

Heather shrugs. “Okay, well.” She shoves herself up. “I’m going to go now. And I need _you”_ —she points—“to go to bed, get out the expensive vibrator that I know you bought for your birthday, and masturbate furiously to the thought of Beth going down on you.”

“I don’t—” Valencia begins to protest.

“Not listening!” Heather yells as she slams the front door behind her.

When she gets home, it’s to a series of texts from Valencia.

_This is stupid._

_I do NOT like Beth._

_I’ve never even SAT in a Subaru._

-

Heather turns off her phone until morning. When she turns it back on, she sees that the monologue has continued.

_My mom would have a stroke._ Followed by the head-exploding emoji.

_It’s not like I’m in love with her._

Then a five-hour gap.

_Who made you an authority on lesbians, anyway?_

Then, just a few seconds ago: _Fine. I'll_ _call her._

Heather smirks. _Okay, lesbian,_ she texts back.


End file.
